


Morning Seas

by happydaysahead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bedsharing, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Cute, Fluff, Gen, HiatuStory May Challenge, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kid!Lock, M/M, Pirate Sherlock, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, and here it is, and then threw everything happy at a word doc, how fluff can i make my fluff, literally I just thought, still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaysahead/pseuds/happydaysahead
Summary: A young Sherlock Holmes posed on his bed, expression reminiscent of a troubled scholar or perhaps a brooding philosopher. One loosely sock-clad foot was propped dramatically on the railing at the foot of his bed. A cream coloured bedsheet dangled loosely across his back, so big it fell over the sides of the mattress and almost fully hid his favourite yellow bumblebee pajamas. Tucked above his right ear in uncombed brown curls was a white goose feather. It had been carefully extracted from one of his pillows as a stand-in for his pirate’s hat.“I am Sherrinford, the greatest pirate to ever sail the seas!”





	Morning Seas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_hopeless_existentialist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_hopeless_existentialist/gifts).



> For @the_hopeless_existentialist because she is a wonderful person <3.

The eight o’clock sky was a pure crystalline blue. More than the sunlight, its intensity invaded the bedroom in increments as the muted tones of slumber were drowned in the fresh tide of morning hues. The border between cerulean vastness and smooth white ceiling blurred on the horizon of the windowsill. A young Sherlock Holmes posed on his bed, expression reminiscent of a troubled scholar or perhaps a brooding philosopher. One loosely sock-clad foot was propped dramatically on the railing at the foot of his bed. A cream coloured bedsheet dangled loosely across his back, so big it fell over the sides of the mattress and almost fully hid his favourite yellow bumblebee pajamas. Tucked above his right ear in uncombed brown curls was a white goose feather. It had been carefully extracted from one of his pillows as a stand-in for his pirate’s hat.

Sherlock envisioned himself silhouetted against the backdrop of his bedroom window and puffed out his chest. He imagined his bedframe to be a great wooden ship at sea. An exciting world of waves rose to his fore, and behind him was only wind. He even flapped his cape for good measure.

“I am Sherrinford, the greatest pirate to ever sail the seas!” he announced, bouncing as he stomped a small foot against the mattress. “Whoever dares challenge me or my treasure will face my wrath! Arrrrr!” Sherlock gives his best growl. “Isn’t that right Redbeard?” The ball of red fur curled up in the corner of the sheets flopped one ear in agreement, eyes still closed. Sherlock grinned at his puppy and continued, “I have been sailing for many days to find lost treasure, and an island finally seems to be in sight!”  He brings his index finger to his mouth with flourish, and then holds it up to the sky. Looking behind him, the pile of pillows against the headboard were distant clouds hanging over already conquered waters. “The wind is picking up and the clouds are behind us, it’s time to open the sails!” Redbeard gave another ear flop of agreement.

Sherlock leapt off the bed as nimble as a fish and retrieved Mycroft’s red umbrella from its hiding place in his closet. It was larger than his own and, when opened, had the ideal surface area for his imaginary ship sail. So eager was he in getting back to his vessel, he almost missed the head of blond hair peeking in from the doorway. But of course, Sherlock rarely missed anything. He turned suddenly as recognition alighted his playful features. It was John Watson! The Watson family was close with the Holmes', and every summer Mrs. Watson and John would stay over for an extended visit. Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Holmes found great joy in seeing their boys become close as they had been in their girlhoods. John and Sherlock unfailingly became fast friends through the summers.

This summer was no different. Sherlock turned to greet his best friend but was struck with a better idea for his welcome. Eyes gleaming mischievously, he climbed back onto the bed and pointed his red umbrella at John in challenge.

"It seems I was mistaken! The mass of land in the distance is an approaching ship. Who dares challenge the great pirate Sherrinford at sea – announce yourself!" John Watson laughed in delight and stepped into the familiar room. A slightly taller figure clad in an oversized caramel sweater, green shorts (which barely concealed grass stains in various stages of fading), and sneakers followed his soft golden locks and glowing features into Sherlock’s view. John was a year older than Sherlock and they were both a year older than last summer, but Sherlock needn’t have worried. John easily fell back into their favourite game.

"I’m Captain Watson, sent by the Queen to capture treacherous pirate Sherrinford for his theft of royal property! And for being rude!" John couldn't help but tease the younger boy a little. Sherlock became quite indignant at the accusation, and Redbeard perked his head up in interest at the familiar face and brewing argument.

"That money was probably embezzled anyway, and it's not my fault if they were too stupid to stop me. They don't even have the intellectual capacity to comprehend my completely reasonable statements," Sherlock insisted quite adamantly. His distain towards bureaucracy and authority in general was clear even at such a young age, probably a result of his distain towards any of Mycroft’s interests that removed his attentions from Sherlock. He looked down at John and delivered his challenge. "Come aboard my ship and capture me if you dare. I will relinquish all my vast treasures if you think you can defeat me in a fight!" Sherlock was jumping up and down on the mattress in excitement. Even his feather quivered in happy agreement. He never imagined John would catch onto his game and join so quickly. John was so clever! Despite his internal zeal he made sure to point the umbrella threateningly, because Sherrinford was fierce and intimidating.

John kicked off his shoes by the door and, with a running start, Captain Watson launched himself onto the front of the ship. The two voyagers circled one another, John stepping carefully and Sherlock jumping from place to place. "I will defeat you Sherrinford, and become the most celebrated Captain in the empire!" John announced, rolling up his sleeves. Sherlock paused at the action, suspicions rising of an imminent attack.

"With what weapon?" He taunted. "You are clearly at a disadvantage. I have my infamous umbrella sword, with which I have defeated hundreds and hundreds of-"

Sherlock didn't have a chance to finish because at that moment John pounced forward with outstretched hands, exclaiming, "feel the wrath of my claws of pain!" Both Sherlock and the great pirate Sherrinford screeched in alarm, failing to dive away in time.

"NO FAIR John! You- That's- C-Cheating!" Screams of laughter filled the air as the two boys struggled against the deck of a very comfortable ship, punctuated by an increasingly excited puppy. John, from experience, knew to hang on tight to escaping arms and legs as he continued his relentless assault on Sherlock's sides, belly, and under his arms. Sherrinford the pirate could only wail at his impending defeat, cursed to laugh to his death at the terrible hands of Captain Watson.

When the victor seemed clear and the battle near ended, John slowed his motions and collapsed on top of Sherlock, hugging him tight with his cape so the smaller boy could not escape. Sherlock tried to sigh in disappointment but couldn’t hide his matching smile. He tried to hug John back through the sheets. He had missed John.

Yet at this moment when both their guards were lowered there was a great yelp from the corner of the bed – or on deck as it were – before a vibrating mass of red fur descended on them both. Redbeard had decided to join the fight belatedly, and was indiscriminate and merciless as he jumped and pawed and kissed and slobbered.

“Sherlock!” John yelled, eyes and nose scrunching over his giggles as he tried to defend himself from the puppy’s onslaught. “Do something!” He gasped as Redbeard jumped on top of them both, worked up in a frenzy of excitement. John soon realized that Sherlock was battling on two fronts; with Redbeard’s attacks and with his own cape, which had tangled around him hopelessly in their earlier struggles. John’s stomach convulsed as he laughed harder at the sight of a snugly wrapped mummified Sherlock, a chaos of brown curls flying on top of covered eyes and only a button of a nose revealed through the cloth.

“No Redbeard, sit! Sit boy!” Sherlock’s voice came out high and muffled from behind the sheets as he continued his wriggles toward freedom. The playful puppy paused at hearing his name, giving a few yelps in response. John took this chance to get up on his elbows and catch his breath. Seeing the red umbrella laying beside Sherlock, a sudden burst of inspiration struck.

John grabbed the ends of Sherlock’s ridiculous bedsheet cloak and helped untangle him. With a great heave and as much flourish as a young boy could muster he gave it a giant flap, like he’d seen mama do when airing out the laundry, or his teachers when they played parachute in gym class. Redbeard scrambled from the sudden upheaval, barking with renewed vigour as he dove off the bed and raced back and forth between its corners. Sherlock’s protests died in confusion as he watched the cream-coloured cloth rise high in the air, then in wonderment as John took the umbrella and opened it above them. The canopy of the umbrella unfurled above the two boys like waves from a pebble, and the overflowing edges of the bedsheet dropped down in rivulets as the edges settled and pooled back on the bed.

Sherlock slowly sat up under their newly created fort, his eyes wide and locked on John. “John,” he whispered, “you’re brilliant!” He laughed in delight as he got on his knees to inspect the perimeter of the little structure.

John grinned. “I am? I am, aren’t I!” He examined their surroundings happily as well. The morning light behind the bedsheets created a hazy glow. The world was filtered through warm beiges and sepia pinks, like the photos in mama’s old family albums. A calm settled over Sherlock and John as they curled up together in their little haven, tired from exertion. Their previous battle quite forgotten, the two boys exchanged notable happenings in the year they had been apart – one predominantly school and sports, the other experiments and insect studies – while they were lulled back to sleep by rustles of sheets and dancing dust motes. Even Redbeard had calmed, and now sat back on his corner of the bed like a duitiful guard.

“John,” Sherlock whispered as he drifted off, “you should run away and come on adventures with me.” His eyes threatened to shut with every blink but the young boy endured for this important request.

“What, run away from the Queen? To your ship?” John asked with a yawn. His eyes were already closed. Perhaps he was still thinking about their game. Sherlock was thinking that his blond hair took on a beautiful rose gold tint in the current lighting.

“Among things, yes,” Sherlock mused. He nudged John’s shoulder when his breathes seemed to slow and shallow. John blinked awake again, and wiggled his nose in that particular way of his as he considered the proposal.

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed, grinning and snuggling closer under the umbrella. Sherlock smiled.

“Pinky swear?” He asked as he caught John’s very contagious yawn.

“Pinky swear,” John replied, reaching up to ruffle those brown curls as he had summers prior. They linked pinkies, stamped thumbs, and the deal was done. John nestled back into the mattress to sleep once more.

“John?” Sherlock enquired again after a pause.

“Yeah?” John mumbled.

“Claws of pain is a horrible name.”

“Don’t make me tickle you again Sherlock.”

“Okay.”

And so they fell sound asleep to images of soft blankets and ocean skies, sea breeze mixed with each other’s breaths, and the sound of waves and gentle laughter seeped into their dreams. Hours later, after everything had been unpacked and lunch was to be served, their mothers found them in much the same position. Together, in their microcosm of sunlight, brown curls tucked against golden blond locks and two pairs of small hands curled around their promise.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story! Feel free to send me a message here or @hollyberrypie on tumblr, and check out @hiatustory for more awesome stories and Johnlock prompt challenges every month!


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